


the things we find when there's nothing left to lose

by teacuphuman



Series: the most dangerous of men [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), The Dark Knight Rises
Genre: Bane and John make a deal, Dubious Consent, Fingerfucking, M/M, Roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 13:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9387401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: John's just looking to make it out the warehouse alive, but it seems the terror of Gotham has taken a special interest in the young detective.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marourin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marourin/gifts).



> Written for [marourin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/marourin/pseuds/marourin), who is under the weather. Know that you are cherished and adored! I hope you like it!

John’s foot slips on the fire escape when he notices the gun. It’s pointed at his chest with deadly accuracy and the man behind it smirks, as though daring John to make a run for it. Instead, John slowly finishes his descent, dropping down in front of the man currently holding John’s life in his hands. He’s slight and of a height with John, but he’s seen the man move and he isn’t foolish enough to think he’d survive a physical altercation with him.

 

He’s been spying on Bane and his men for the resistance for three months now and honestly, he’s surprised it’s taken this long for someone to notice. 

 

“My brother wishes to speak with you,” the man tells him, tilting his head an inch in the direction he wants John to go.

 

John squeezes his hands into fists, willing them not to shake. He’s seen what happens to people who disobey or move against Bane and the choke hold he has on the city. It always ends with a lifeless stare and blood on the floor. He slips through the loading doors of the warehouse, stopping when he spots Bane, awesome and imposing with his back to them. He’s removed his heavy coat and his shadow stretches grotesquely over the floor in the lantern light.

 

The gun prods him in the back, moving John forward until he’s a few feet from the terror of Gotham, and if only he had his gun he could take advantage of the wide expanse of vulnerable flesh in front of him. 

 

Bane hardly seems to have noticed them, he has something in his hands, but John’s head barely clears Bane’s shoulder and can’t see what it is. The door rolls closed and John spins around to find the other man gone. He’s alone with Bane. A shiver runs through him and he fights to keep calm in the face of what is certainly to be his final moments. It’s odd, he thinks, Bane usually likes to make a spectacle of it, but there’s no one here but them.

 

“Detective Robin John Blake,” Bane rumbles, his voice melodious, but severe through the mask, like John’s name is an accusation.

 

Bane turns when John doesn’t answer and John knows his face betrays him when he sees his wallet in Bane’s massive hands.

 

“You knew the whole time,” John says, feeling stupid and slow. Of course Bane knew. No way John was smooth and discreet enough to spy on him for three fucking months without someone noticing. And apparently, Bane and his men noticed enough to suss out who John is and even where he lives, because he sure as hell doesn’t carry i.d. or his badge around town these days. Not when people are shooting cops in the streets.

 

“Of course.” Bane’s tone is indulgent, like he’s amused by John’s revelation.

 

John bristles. “Then why let me continue? We stopped that raid last month, it’s not like you weren’t letting me get away with useful information.”

 

“I could tell you all our plans and you would still fail, detective. The fire is rising and your band of white hats will not suffocate it.”

 

“We might,” John spits, taking a dangerous step closer. If Bane’s going to kill him there isn’t much he can do to stop it, but he sure as hell isn’t going down without a fight. “We’ve had others like you, trying to take this city for their own and crush us under their bootheels, and we’ve overcome. You have no idea what the people of Gotham are capable of.”

 

Bane strokes his thumb over the numbers on John’s badge. “You have fire inside you, detective. If only your fellow citizens burned as brightly with righteous indignation. Then perhaps, Gotham would have a chance to save itself. Perhaps it would not have needed me at all.”

 

John shakes his head, his anger buzzing through him. “We never needed you. Just like we didn’t need any of the others. It’s not humane, what you’re doing. What you’re forcing us to do. Existing like this? People are killing each other, children are starving, and the world is watching us die, glued to their tv’s like it’s some sort of sick reality show. That’s what you’ve done. You’ve turned us into cheap entertainment for the masses. Our deaths won’t be a lesson, keeping others from following in our footsteps. Gotham will be remembered as a comedy of horrors, left to tear itself to pieces at the feet of it’s sadistic, masked ringmaster.”

 

“And I was lead to believe you were a great believer of The Batman,” Bane says cruelly, tilting his head.

 

“Fuck you,” John growls, taking another step forward. He’s dangerously close to Bane, but he’s too deep in it to turn back now. “He’ll come back for us.”

 

“Tell me about the children,” Bane says, derailing John’s tirade.

 

“What?”

 

“You said children are starving. Tell me about them.”

 

“About the children,” John clarifies. 

 

“I am a patient man, Robin John Blake, but I dislike repeating myself.” Bane warns.

 

“What do you want to know? There isn’t enough food and they’re a marginalized demographic. They can’t exactly go out and fight for scraps. A lot of them are too young to be on their own and they have no one to advocate for them.”

 

“They have you,” Bane says evenly. “Saint Swithin’s is where you grew up, is it not? That is why you feel it is your duty to protect them. To feed them.”

 

“How do you know that?” John’s confusion at Bane’s interest in the children must show on his face because Bane makes an amused noise and holds John’s wallet out to him.

 

“I know many things about you, Robin.” Bane shakes the wallet and John reaches out cautiously, snagging the folded leather before Bane can touch him. Bane’s eyes crinkle like he knows exactly what John is thinking.

 

“Why? I’m no one.” John asks, slipping his wallet into his coat pocket.

 

Bane takes a step toward him and John wonders if his wallet was returned so that Gordon will be able to identify his body.

 

“No person is insignificant,” Bane tells him, stopping right in front of John. “Every man, woman, and child has the ability to change a life. To affect the course of history.”

 

“I thought we could never hope to suffocate the fire,” John sneers.

 

“Not them,” Bane says, raising his hand to poke John in the chest. “You.”

 

A thrill goes through John at the contact and he curses himself. If Bane is going to offer him a deal in exchange for his life he needs to stay strong. Even if it’s just long enough to throw it back in Bane’s face.

 

“And how do I do that?” John asks, his jaw clenched so tight it hurts. Bane’s finger is still pressed to his sternum, keeping him pinned in place.

 

“By helping the children, just as you desire.”

 

John huffs a laugh. “There isn’t much more I can do without hurting someone else and I refused to take one life to save another.”

 

“Your convictions are strong.” Bane muses, finger pressing harder.

 

“I’m taking that as a compliment.”

 

“It was meant as one,” Bane’s eye crinkle again. “But I do not require you to take a life to feed your orphans.”

 

John swallows nervously as Bane’s hand flattens over his heart. “What do you require, then?”

 

“Will you accept my terms?”

 

“I don’t know what they are yet, how can I accept them?” Bane’s warmth is bleeding through John’s clothing, and god, it feels amazing. He feels like he’s been cold for a year.

 

“Have I not earned your trust, detective?” Bane asks, startling a laugh out of John. “I have not killed you yet.”

 

“But that could change at any moment, right?”

 

“Yes,” Bane agrees. 

 

John studies Bane’s eyes above his mask. He’s seen a lot of different people lie, a few of them exceptionally well, but he can’t find the falsehood in Bane’s gaze. He’s frank and ruthless, but to John’s knowledge, dishonesty isn’t a weapon Bane employs. He’ll kill John if he gets in the way of his plans, but John is almost certain Bane will uphold any deal they make until the clock runs out. Especially if it doesn’t actually cost Bane anything.

 

“You’ll ensure they are delivered food.” John says, leaving no room for argument. “And none of those deliveries will be intercepted by anyone, including anyone working on your behalf.”

 

“If you insist.” Bane inclines his head slightly.

 

“I do. And no one touches any of those kids, do you hear me?”

 

“I cannot guarantee the safety of your orphans at all times, detective.”

 

“You can damn well make sure none of your guys touch them. I hear of any of my kids being approached, or coerced by any of your men and I will slit that man’s throat,” John swears.

 

“Should that happen, I will present him to you myself,” Bane rumbles, once again throwing John off his game.

 

John nods, less sure than he was a moment ago. “What do you want from me?”

 

Bane’s fingers flex and John flinches, his face going red and warm when Bane drops his hand.

 

“Strip.”

 

John gapes. “What?”

 

This time Bane does act. He grabs the front of John’s jacket, tossing him toward the back wall of the warehouse.  _ Doesn’t like to repeat himself, right, _ John thinks, throwing out his arms to keep his face from colliding with the grimy cement wall. He turns around and stares at Bane, his pulse jumping in his throat. Bane watches him, his hands hooked in the straps of his vest, like he’s prepared to wait John out.

 

John’s hands shake as he unzips his jacket, there’s no way to help it. He’s terrified of what Bane might do to him, but he’s determined to meet it head on if it means the food deliveries make it to the kids. His eyes stay glued to Bane’s. He can’t seem to look away, unsure if it’s heat or hatred he sees there. He pulls his sweater over his head, breaking Bane’s spell and exposing his bare chest to the chilly air. Bane makes a noise through the mask and John’s eyes snap up to his again. 

 

He bites his cheek and opens his jeans, unable to look away from the hulking man in front of him as he shoves his pants and underwear down. Bane’s gaze follows his progress closely, his chin raising when John toes off his shoes and kicks his pants away. He’s left standing in his socks, one pushed halfway down his calf from his disrobing, the cold floor seeping into his bones and  making his feet ache.

 

Bane stares at him for a few minutes, his gaze prickling over John’s skin, intimate and openly curious.  Bane’s men went through his apartment and they don’t strike John as the type to leave a stone unturned, so Bane must at least be aware of where John’s interests lie sexually. Embarrassment burns through John, but he wills himself to stand straight and not let Bane shame him in this. 

 

“Turn around,” Bane instructs, the mask bleeding his voice of any tone that might indicate to John where this is heading. “Hands on the wall.”

 

Goosebumps spread over his body and John will swear with his dying breath that it’s from the cold. The wall is gritty under his palms, but it’s a cold anchor, helping him stay sharp instead of letting his mind run from what is about to happen. He knows if he’s going to walk away from this night, he’ll need his wits about him.

 

He grits his teeth against the pain when Bane kicks his legs wider, the thick sole of Bane’s boot, jagged and unforgiving against John’s ankle bones. And then Bane’s hands are on him, running down his back and over his ribs, fingers dragging through John’s sparse chest hair as Bane takes a tactile inventory of his body.

 

Bane’s right hand curls around the back of John’s neck, moving around to the front and squeezing firmly until John’s lungs start to feel tight. Bane releases him and shoves two fingers into John’s mouth when he opens it to suck in a breath. John chokes, the fingers thick and invasive as they rub over his tongue. His pulse spikes, understanding now, where this is headed. He sucks hard, spreading as much saliva as he can over them. Bane makes a rumbling sound of approval and pulls them out, a strand of saliva stretching between John’s mouth and the tip of his middle finger. 

 

Bane is so close behind him, John can feel the heat of his body and has to actively fight not to press into it. He’s freezing, his teeth starting to chatter now that they’re not being pried apart. Bane wastes no time in rubbing the wet fingers over John’s hole and John makes a sharp, shocked noise at the roughness of this touch. Bane leans in closer, his body nearly caging John in. The mask brushes over his temple and John presses his forehead to the wall as Bane presses in.

 

John wants to scream. It’s too much, too soon, and it feels like Bane is about to rip him apart. He opens his eyes when Bane’s left hand comes to rest over his on the wall, dwarfing it. John breathes heavily through his nose as he stares at the blunt fingers covering his. One is nearly the size of two of John’s, and Bane is trying to shove two inside him with only spit as lube.

 

He bares down, trying open himself by sheer will and Bane hums, curling his free hand around John’s. He’s still pressing in, not even pausing to give John time to adjust as he sinks deeper and deeper. 

 

“Jesus,” John grunts when Bane’s hand stills, his fingers as far in as they’ll go. He needs a minute, just a few seconds to settle and remember how to breathe. Bane doesn’t give it to him. He pulls his fingers all the way out and slides them back in, drawing a whine out of John.

 

Bane’s thrusts are rough, but steady, opening John up as efficiently as is physically possible and just as John’s resigned himself to the impersonal assault, Bane curls his fingers, brushing delicately over John’s prostate. 

 

John yeowls, trying to claw his way up the wall and away from what he knows will turn this from a simple transaction into something John thinks about alone in bed, swamped by guilt and confusion as he brings himself off to the memory of it.

 

Bane leans into him, keeping him from squirming away and it takes a minute for John to realize the serrated noise coming from the mask is Bane’s attempt at shushing him. 

 

“Please,” John gasps as Bane touches him again, sparking his nerves and filling his cock with intent. 

 

Bane either misunderstands his plea, or he’s ignoring it because he does it again, touching John just as lightly as before, but going slower, stroking his prostate until John is choking out wet breaths. He collapses against the wall when Bane goes back to thrusting.

 

“So sensitive,” Bane teases, trialing the mask over John’s ear.

 

“Fuck you,” John spits, crying out before the words are fully formed because Bane’s shoved his fingers back in, this time pressing with intent against John’s core.

 

John’s cock is leaking when Bane backs off. He’s hard as rock and shaking from overstimulation. His balls are drawn up tight and he’s sweating lightly, his skin feeling scorched everywhere Bane is touching him. Bane fucks him with his fingers, silent and adept as John squirms and pants against the wall, wanting to simultaneously push back against the intrusion and rub up against the wall for some relief. It goes on forever, John’s nerves fraying more with every slide of Bane’s fingers until Bane shifts behind him. It’s such a small move, but it brings the front of him into contact with John’s backside, Bane’s erection a dark prophecy of what’s to come.

 

John groans when Bane grinds against him, both horrifically aroused and terrifyingly worried about taking Bane’s cock without proper preparation. It’s impossibly thick and long, more than John’s taken before, and his mouth waters at the thought of tasting it. Somewhere between Bane demanding he strip and the delicate way the grill of the mask runs over John’s skin, John’s body decided it likes what’s happening. Maybe it’s self-preservation, or maybe it’s a deathwish, but John wants Bane to fuck him. Maybe not here, like this, but one day, one time, somewhere John can show him he won’t be broken, no matter what Bane gives him.

 

John gives in and pushes back, allowing Bane to rub up against him properly. Bane growls and shoves forward, pressing John against the wall and tightening his grip on John’s hand. The cement is rough, but a welcoming cold to his overheated body and Bane continues his assault, now thrusting his hips in time with his fingers. John lays his cheek on the wall, the uneven surface scraping his skin, his panting breath ghosting over their joined hands. He blinks to clear his vision and finds that yes, at some point, Bane’s fingers slotted themselves between John’s and they are, for all intents and purposes, holding hands.

 

John huffs out a shocked laugh that turns into a whine when Bane curls his fingers again, speeding up his ministrations as his breath is forced, high and thin through the mask. John feels his cock throb and he winces as it catches on the wall, the pain dampening his arousal. 

 

“Touch yourself,” Bane growls, and  _ fuck, _ he sounds wrecked. Even with the mask’s distortion, John can hear the heat in his voice.

 

John’s chest thuds against the wall when he removes his hand to palm his cock, but he barely feels it because Bane’s inside him and behind him, and all John can think about is how big he is and how fucking lethal it feels to be doing this. He can smell Bane and he wants to stick out his tongue and lick his hand. Taste that skin again without the fear he felt the first time. He wants to take his time and find out if Bane tastes different from inch to inch, sink his teeth into his flesh and leave his mark like Bane is leaving his right now.

 

Bane tears his hand away, shocking John back into the present. He’s fumbling behind John, and he thinks,  _ this is it _ . Bane is going to fuck him. He’s going to tear John in two shoving inside, brutal and unrelenting, and John’s going to let him. 

 

Bane’s hand returns, squeezing tighter than before, and when he leans into John again, there’s the heated friction of skin on skin. John moans, relishing the wet slide of Bane’s cock against him, knowing it’s because of him. For him. 

 

“Please,” John says again, only this time his voice is raw, full of desperation and just the wrong side of begging.

 

Bane twists his fingers, fucking into John hard and quick while he growls foreign words into John’s neck. And then John’s coming, violent and rushed, and if it weren’t for Bane’s body keeping him contained, John thinks he would shake apart under the force of it. Before he’s even finished, Bane’s pulling his fingers out and flattening him against the wall. He pulls John’s wet hand between them and uses it to spread spunk over his cock. John’s fingers curl around its girth and he moans, stroking firmly until Bane pulls away and forces John’s hand to the wall, covering it with his own, just like the other. He shoves between John’s cheeks and John’s breath hitches with anticipation. 

 

“Next time,” Bane promises darkly, sliding his cock up and down John’s crack, his weight nearly suffocating John as Bane chases his release. 

 

It doesn’t happen right away, although John thinks Bane would like it to. The air between them remains warm, but the silence grows cold as John’s afterglow fades and the harsh reality of what he’s done, what he’s still doing, comes crashing back. He stiffens under Bane, trying to stay still and silent as Bane ruts. 

 

His lack of enthusiasm must show because Bane slows down and then stops, panting over John’s shoulder. He makes a displeased sound and pulls away, the shock of cold air making John gasp.

 

“Get dressed,” Bane barks, and John can hear him buttoning his pants. 

 

“You didn’t-” John starts, shrinking away when Bane snarls and cages him against the wall.

 

John stares at Bane, trying not to flinch or look away as Bane glares back with all the force of his anger. John’s hands shake as he raises them slowly, resting them on the waist of Bane’s cargo pants.

 

“We have an agreement,” John says quietly, running his fingers along the edge of the material. “Food for the kids for, for  _ this _ ,” he clears his throat and his eyes flick down to where Bane is still hard and straining. “That’s the deal. You hold up your end and I hold up mine, right?”

 

Bane doesn’t answer him, but his eyes soften the barest amount. John takes a chance and pops the button, unzipping Bane’s pants and pulling them open.

 

“I don’t trust you,” John admits, licking his lips as he takes hold of Bane’s cock. A sharp breath is sucked in through the mask and it strengthens John’s resolve. “But I know you’ll honour the agreement if I do. So let me.”

 

Bane’s eyes bore into his, no doubt searching for deception, but after a minute Bane nods, widening his stance and leaning his weight onto his arms where they’re braced against the wall. John has to use both hands to cover Bane’s cock, and he strokes upwards firmly, twisting at the top and spreading precome around the head. Bane’s cock is beautiful and John resolves to get on his knees next time, but for this, right now, they need an even footing. The first time needs to show Bane John can give as good as he gets. 

 

He tightens his hold and Bane rumbles, dropping his head an inch as his eyes flutter shut. John wants to talk him through it, tell Bane all the gloriously filthy thoughts that were running through his head while Bane fucked him, but he keeps his mouth shut, aware that this is a tenuous truce between them. John has no idea what Bane’s thinking. He clearly isn’t interested in taking what isn’t on offer, but John knows that doesn’t mean Bane actually cares about him. He’s most likely a means to an end; a convenient arrangement that benefits both parties. 

 

Bane’s breathing speeds up, but he doesn’t take his eyes off John, just continues to stare down at him, as though he’s daring him to look away, to prove that John doesn’t want to do this. John clenches his jaw and he speeds up, jerking Bane, both hands sliding over his length as he grows more rigid. John trails the fingers of one hand lower, brushing over Bane’s balls until a noise of warning has him moving back up, stroking with more intent until Bane’s blinking rapidly and spilling silently over John’s hands, his eyes never leaving John’s face.

 

Bane pulls away the moment he’s finished, yanking his pants back into place and turning away from John.

 

“Next time I will come to you,” Bane rasps, pulling his coat off the stairs and shrugging it on before heading to the door, leaving John standing in the empty warehouse, naked and half covered in a psychopath’s come. Bane stops before he leaves, half turning back to John. “It would displease me if you broke our agreement.”

 

And then he’s gone. John slumps against the wall, gritting his teeth against the cold and the sticky residue on his hands and belly. He’s a mess, and he’s compromised, and maybe tomorrow this will be the biggest regret of his life, but right now, with Bane’s mark on him, the memory of his incredible heat fading from John’s nerves as the cold takes over, John can’t help but think about next time. 

 

Because he knows Bane will be back. Once the orphanage has food and John ensures their bellies are full. Bane will call for him, and John will go freely.


End file.
